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i walked those streets again
pavement broken and bloated
with the stench of spirits
and felt at home
relieved next to the muddy water
a full circle shared with strangers
under the yellow florescence
in the thick air

sticker than a cinnamon bun,
I paced the same stretch of sidewalk
reading walls ranting of a grey ghost
ferns aren't in valleys here

vines grow from the walls
amidst the urine soaked alleys
feral cats chase german roaches
it's not glamorous

the prism paint is peeling
and the iron is as elaborate
as the cracked ceilings
I become it's own